My head was spinning. Relax, Tony. Relax. I walked down the stairs of our apartment and into the kitchen.
Where did he hide those damn things?
Dan hated cigarettes.
"This damn place smells like a whore-house," he would say. He threatened to steal my cigarettes from me if I wouldn't quit. I didn't think he would actually go through with it.
This is the fifth pack he found, and hid.
I slowly opened a cabinet, trying hard not to wake him up. I glanced over at the blue numbers lit up on the microwave, 3:27 am. Fuck. It's too late to go out and buy more. I haven't had a cigarette in 3 days. 3 damn days. My head was pounding. These dark thoughts were beginning to consume me. Smoking was all I had. It was the only way I knew to cope with my depression. Smoking is what made me feel normal.
Carefully, I closed the cabinet. If I were Dan, where would I hide shit?
The fridge?
Not only was I depressed, but I had an eating... thing, too. I don't want to call it an eating disorder, I can't accept that. I just don't eat enough, I guess. Eating is too hard. I don't like the way food makes me feel. Dan knows that. I guess it's obvious, I am underweight. I've been told many times before that I don't look like I eat enough for "a boy my age". I crept over to the fridge, the light blinding me as I opened the door. Sure enough, there they were. Out in plain sight, sitting on top of the carton of eggs. I grabbed them and headed out the sliding door that led to the backyard. Well if you could even call this small area of grass a backyard.
I leaned up against the wall, sliding down onto my ass, dropping my head into my hands.
Not good enough
Kill yourself
Worthless
I felt around my pocket of my shorts for my lighter, sighing at the familiarity of the handle. I pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, inhaling.
Idiot
Pathetic
Failure
These voices, in my head, they never stop. I felt numb. Staring out at the darkness, letting the voices consume me.
Loser
Stupid
"Tony"
... "Tony"
My head snapped back at the sliding door. There stood Dan, in his black t-shirt and athletic shorts. His hair was disheveled and he was adjusting his glasses.
"Hey man, are you ok? How long have you been out- how did you find those?" I glanced down at the cigarette in my hand, just a nub. It had completely burned out. I turned away, embarrassed.
"I don't know." I replied. I don't know what I was answering. I didn't know if I was ok. I flicked the cigarette in front of me. I didn't know how long I'd been outside. I felt Dan's hand on my shoulder, turning to see that he had sat beside me.
"Hand 'em over bud," He said with his other hand outstretched towards me. The way the moon shined on his skin made him look almost transparent. "You're done." Hesitantly, I placed the pack into his hand.
"Sorry..." I whispered, looking down. And that's when it happened. The tears came flowing down my face. The tears I had been holding in since I left New Mexico. Boys don't cry. Especially not 21 year old boys. The voices were right, I was pathetic. I was so fucking pathetic.
I started to get up, but Dan grabbed my arm, pulling me back down.
"Ton, are you ok?" He asked. I looked at him, actually looked at him. His face was scrunched with concern. His tough guy attitude was gone. Through the tears, I managed to get out one word,
"No."
Then it was over. I was a mess. I was hysterical. The tears were coming faster now, I couldn't see. I couldn't think. Everything that had been bottled up inside of me was rushing out. Dan wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I collapsed into him. I don't know how long we sat like that. I don't remember if anything was said. We just sat there. And all I knew was in that moment, I felt wanted. Like someone really cared. Like I wasn't alone.